To our left, there’s a narrow gangway leading to the back of the building. I can’t see much from where we’re standing, just the large dumpsters and deep shadows. Suddenly, a movement catches my eye.
“You’re trying to take back control of the situation,” Jamie says, though I keep staring at the end of the gangway, waiting to see movement again. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“You had no control over the pregnancy happening. You’re terrified of the change it’ll bring with it, so you owning it like this, you going up to the guys to tell them about it, it’s your way of keeping control over the situation.”
“You read me like an open book,” I mutter.
“I know you well, always the independent warrior woman,” he chuckles softly, then pauses. “What are youlooking at?”
“Someone’s over there,” I reply.
He follows my gaze, not entirely convinced. “That’s the back of the shop, isn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“They have a loading dock back there most likely. It’s where they receive all the big parts and whatever supplies they need to build Toby’s badass and ridiculously expensive bikes,” Jamie says. “Maybe someone’s unloading stuff.”
“They might be able to tell us when Toby’s coming back, at least,” I reply. “If I get him, he can get Cole and Asher over, too.”
“Worth a shot.”
Jamie follows me into the alleyway. The deeper we go, however, the more unsettled I am, though for no apparent reason. It’s just darker here than out in the street. It’s the middle of the day, yet my instincts keep flaring, my temples throbbing with a sense of foreboding.
With a tight stomach, I reach the end.
A black SUV is waiting, the engine rumbling softly, but I don’t see the driver anywhere. The loading dock is shut and locked down, too. Jamie’s yelp of pain, followed by a sudden thud, scares me, and I jump and turn around.
“Jamie!” I cry out.
My best friend is on the ground, bleeding from the back of his head and moaning as he struggles to stay conscious. Standing above him and with a gun pointed at my head is Brett Harvey.
“You,” I whisper, dread taking over with an icy, sharp grip.
I recognize him from the police photos and from the few glimpses I got at Terrence and Katrina’s wedding. Only now, I am able to connect the last few dots, to remember the moments before Jamie collapsed from the poison. Again, Jamie takes the brunt of violence meant for me.
“Shut up. Don’t make a sound,” Brett says.
He aims the gun at my face. My blood thickens. My stomach shrinks to the size of a pea, tight and painful as hell as sweat trickles down my neck. I’m shaking, unable to move without my knees caving in. All I can think of is my unborn child.
27
WILLOW
“If you scream, I will hurt you,” Brett says. “Get in the car.”
I look at the SUV again, then at Jamie. He’s breathing, but he doesn’t look anywhere near fine enough to be left behind like this.
“You hurt him,” I say, my voice trembling.
“I’ll hurt you more,” he replies. “Get in the fucking car.”
“Why? What do you want from me?”
I try to stall him. It’s the only thing I can think of while I desperately glance around, hoping to see someone or something that might help me free myself and my best friend from this situation. But we’re alone in this back alley. There’s no movement at the end where it meets the main street. There’s no sound, except for Jamie’s ragged moans and the SUV’s engine idling. I’m terrified. My phone rings, startling me and Brett at the same time.
“Oh God,” I gasp.
“Give me the phone,” he hisses and holds out his other hand.
